Not knocking, I clunk open
the door, into a room
supposedly vacant.
She sits on a chair
by the window,
rhythmically
rocking and purring.
Sun glosses her dun mane
as it sprawls
around furrowed features.
Sorry, I breathe.
Her life entangled in bygones,
the old woman's gaze
never wanders from
the plumped-pillow face
of her baby, cradled
in a white sheet.
the door, into a room
supposedly vacant.
She sits on a chair
by the window,
rhythmically
rocking and purring.
Sun glosses her dun mane
as it sprawls
around furrowed features.
Sorry, I breathe.
Her life entangled in bygones,
the old woman's gaze
never wanders from
the plumped-pillow face
of her baby, cradled
in a white sheet.
Eira Needham is a retired teacher, living in Birmingham UK. Her poetry is eclectic and has been published in print and online. Recent publications are in The Tower Journal, Cyclamens & Swords and Green Silk Journal. She has also been Featured Writer in West Ward Quarterly.
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